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urbpanYesterday, apparently where was much ado (at least among members of the guinea_pigs lj community, and my coworkers) about a news story about Peru’s desire to sell guinea pigs, as food, to the United States.
Guinea pigs, as North Americans know, are small furry pets, owned mostly by children (my family owns three). South Americans, however, know them as important meat producing livestock, with traditional and ritual significance, included (for example) in Andean depictions of the Last Supper. Their use in the North American pet trade is something of an accident—or at least a relatively recent marketing concept.
As a vegetarian and animal lover, I understand the outrage one can feel about an animal being treated as a resource, valuable only when deprived of life. What I have more difficulty with, is the capricious selectivity most people have. In other words, why is it shocking to raise one animal for food and routine to raise others?
One common rationalization is the idea that animals raised for food are stupid. While this is a convenient thought for those who feel better about eating their intellectual inferiors, it’s not accurate. Taken individually, a cow or chicken is as trainable (one measure of intelligence) as a dog. Domestic animals may seem dull because they have been selected for (in the Darwinian sense) for “tameness,” otherwise defined as “the decreased tendency to flee from humans.”
How about the feeling that we shouldn’t eat “cute” animals? Is this why North Americans eat more beef and less lamb than other cultures? Is this why the “Boycott Veal” movement had some success, while the egg industry continues to produce more misery than the veal industry ever did?
In the course of a conversation about using guinea pigs as food, my supervisor recalled seeing a sad-faced dog, kept for food in China, in TV pictures. She was deeply affected by the image, despite the fact that she eats meat every day. Dogs have the advantage of appearing more convincingly sad than almost any other animal. Our North American dog-eating taboo derives more from the dog’s accidentally familiar facial expressions than anything else. Without this resemblance, there would be American dog factory farms, producing 300 lb, nearly hairless ham dogs, packing 20 of each grotesque bow-legged animal into a 15’x15’ sty. As it is, the most popular pet dog breed is the golden retriever, its pale face and black lips emphasizing its perpetual supplicating grin. Note also the perennial popularity of flat-faced lap dogs, intentionally bred to offer up big wet childlike eyes to their mistresses.
One day, while I was tending to the rabbit exhibit, a visitor asked, “What’s the difference between a ‘rabbit’ and a ‘bunny’?” My response, reworded here for glibness’ sake: “No one eats bunnies.”
Guinea pigs, as North Americans know, are small furry pets, owned mostly by children (my family owns three). South Americans, however, know them as important meat producing livestock, with traditional and ritual significance, included (for example) in Andean depictions of the Last Supper. Their use in the North American pet trade is something of an accident—or at least a relatively recent marketing concept.
As a vegetarian and animal lover, I understand the outrage one can feel about an animal being treated as a resource, valuable only when deprived of life. What I have more difficulty with, is the capricious selectivity most people have. In other words, why is it shocking to raise one animal for food and routine to raise others?
One common rationalization is the idea that animals raised for food are stupid. While this is a convenient thought for those who feel better about eating their intellectual inferiors, it’s not accurate. Taken individually, a cow or chicken is as trainable (one measure of intelligence) as a dog. Domestic animals may seem dull because they have been selected for (in the Darwinian sense) for “tameness,” otherwise defined as “the decreased tendency to flee from humans.”
How about the feeling that we shouldn’t eat “cute” animals? Is this why North Americans eat more beef and less lamb than other cultures? Is this why the “Boycott Veal” movement had some success, while the egg industry continues to produce more misery than the veal industry ever did?
In the course of a conversation about using guinea pigs as food, my supervisor recalled seeing a sad-faced dog, kept for food in China, in TV pictures. She was deeply affected by the image, despite the fact that she eats meat every day. Dogs have the advantage of appearing more convincingly sad than almost any other animal. Our North American dog-eating taboo derives more from the dog’s accidentally familiar facial expressions than anything else. Without this resemblance, there would be American dog factory farms, producing 300 lb, nearly hairless ham dogs, packing 20 of each grotesque bow-legged animal into a 15’x15’ sty. As it is, the most popular pet dog breed is the golden retriever, its pale face and black lips emphasizing its perpetual supplicating grin. Note also the perennial popularity of flat-faced lap dogs, intentionally bred to offer up big wet childlike eyes to their mistresses.
One day, while I was tending to the rabbit exhibit, a visitor asked, “What’s the difference between a ‘rabbit’ and a ‘bunny’?” My response, reworded here for glibness’ sake: “No one eats bunnies.”
